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Movie nights with Brett had, over time, become a regular habit that they both enjoyed every Saturday. This time, however, Reagan had suggested going to the theater, at least to change things up a little and get out more. The idea of considering it a “date” was still uncertain; it was just an outing between friends. That was all… wasn’t it?
While getting ready, Reagan felt—without really knowing why—the need to put in a little more effort. It wasn’t that she cared too much about her appearance or that she wanted to impress him; she simply thought it wouldn’t hurt to look a little nicer for the occasion. So she searched her closet for something more decent and, luckily, found a very pretty dress she hadn’t worn yet. It was perfect.
It was already 4:10, and Brett was beginning to get nervous when Reagan didn’t show up. He felt a little guilty for not having picked her up, even though she had insisted it was fine, that she would arrive in her own car. He took out his phone and started looking through photos in his gallery while he waited, until a voice he knew very well—from his coworker—called out to him.
—Brett! I’m so sorry for making you wait, the traffic was a mess —she explained. Reagan felt a little bad about being late.
At first, he barely paid attention. Something about Reagan looked different. Even so, he replied:
—Don’t worry, Reags. The movie hasn’t started yet. I was worried something might have happened to you.
Reagan smiled at him tenderly and felt the warmth rise to her cheeks. It was common for Brett to worry about others, but she still found it adorable. After all, her life was pretty chaotic and he knew it.
—Shall we go in? —Brett asked.
—Right away! —she answered.
The movie Brett had chosen was an action film, with some somewhat cheesy romantic scenes. Reagan couldn’t help but think she would like to live a love story like that: with someone who understood her, who wouldn’t ask her to give up her dreams. But she had never found that; all her past experiences had been disappointing, marked by selfishness and indifference. Maybe that idea of love only existed in Hollywood and in its movies.
She sighed and settled more comfortably into her seat, crossing her legs. The theater was dark and cold, with the smell of freshly made popcorn, and the murmur of other viewers was barely noticeable. Beside her, Brett seemed completely absorbed in the plot, his gaze fixed on the screen and a crooked smile appearing every time an exaggerated explosion or an absurdly dramatic line showed up. Reagan watched him for a second, with an unexpected tenderness.
Brett’s laugh pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned her head, surprised to see him smiling like that; she would have laughed with him if she hadn’t been so distracted. That smile… his mouth.
For a moment she kept looking at him without trying to hide it. It was strange: she had seen him laugh dozens of times, they spent time together every day, and yet… that laugh in the dim light of the theater, intermittently illuminated by the screen, gave her a familiar and dangerous feeling.
Butterflies in her stomach.
Without thinking too much about it, she reached her hand toward the shared cup holder and grabbed one of the drinks. She brought it to her lips and took a sip.
A second later she noticed it.
It wasn’t her drink.
She froze, the drink still in her hand and her lips moist around the straw that, seconds earlier, had touched Brett. The taste was different. She glanced sideways, suddenly aware.
She lowered her gaze to the straw. Her mouth had been there. And before that, his.
Did that count as an indirect kiss?
The mere thought made her face flush. Her heart was beating faster than usual.
It was so stupid—what did it matter?
Brett slightly turned his head, as if he had also noticed. He didn’t say anything. He only looked at her for a moment, without mockery or judgment; with that curious and calm expression of his, almost surprised, that Reagan knew so well. Then he turned back to the screen, though he didn’t completely hide the small smile that formed on his lips.
Reagan slowly lowered the drink, feeling a little silly, but not because she had drunk from the wrong one… rather because of how much such a small gesture had stirred her chest.
Without saying a word, Brett let his shoulder barely brush against hers. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, like a response. As if that small mistake hadn’t been a mistake at all.
Then, without thinking too much about it, Reagan let her hand on the shared armrest. A moment later she felt Brett’s fingers gently searching for hers.
Their hands stayed there, together, in silence. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t say anything.
And for several minutes, neither of them truly paid attention to the movie again.